Join me on my journey through parenthood. BYOHelmet.

Prepare for the overshare. April 16, 2009

ETA: I just saw that it says below that I have to do the exercises twice a week. It’s actually twice a DAY. Wishful thinking on my part.

This is going to be way, way TMI. If you have both an X and Y chromosome, you need to leave. Now.

For those of you left, if you don’t want to visualize me having to stretch my perineum you need to chuck the deuces also.

Everyone else have their helmets? Then let’s get started.

To put the following in perspective for you, there was a part where he said “I’m going to put my finger in your rectum.” By the conclusion of the visit, that didn’t even register on the trauma scale.

Today I had a date with Dr. Doom for my yearly girly check-up. I had two concerns to address: contraception in case I ever decide to have sex again (jury was still out after an epic FAIL our first attempt) and the fact that I still can’t poop without bleeding/almost passing out from pain.

The initial nurse asked what birth control I was using and wasn’t amused when my response was “having a newborn.” Apparently that method fails in many cases, which I totally don’t understand.

Once we finally got to the big show I was a hot mess, owing mostly to the fact that the appointment was running over into my usual pumping time so my girls were soaking the paper gown. Hot. Dr. Doom got settled into position, as did I, and I started making my usual jokes. That’s when I knew things were bad. I was bringing some good material and neither the nurse or the doctor were even cracking a smile.

After thorough investigation (including probing the previously mentioned rectum) he concluded that scar tissue was to blame for all of my pain. Basically my surgically-reconstructed junk has developed some significant internal scar tissue that I have to stretch out if I ever want to have sex again. I am apparently the only interested party who is considering celibacy as an acceptable course of action, so I have to start pressing on the tissue for five minutes a day twice a week. It has to be done in counts of ten, rest, repeat. It hurts like hell.

I don’t know how I’ll ever leave the house in a positive state of mind after starting my day self-inflicting searing junk pain. Only the horror of Plan B can motivate me to follow through: without significant improvement in two weeks, Dr. Doom says he may have to go in and cut out the tissue, then Frankenstein me all over again. He’s only had to do it twice in his career, so he’s probably not even very good at it.

He’s also going to have to laser off some internal vaginal scar tissue. He says he “doesn’t think” it will hurt. I don’t see how anyone could have their ladybits Star-Warred without wincing so we’ll see.

For contraception I think he gave me a script for an estrogen-free bc pill, but I don’t even know what I did with it. Like I said, sex isn’t really on my priority list at the moment.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?
That is traumatizing enough with out it actually happening to me. for the love of all things holy this story in its self makes me want to become a nun. Me and pain do NOT mix well.

I love the term Marital Closeness Time. I tried because I felt sorry for the guy; he never whined about it per se, but he had started threatening to have MCT with my ear while I was sleeping. Little did I know my misery was just beginning.